Saturday January 9th, at 2:00 p.m.The Away Dressing Room, The Foundry.
The FA Cup, Third Round.
The match is between Crestwood United and West Bromwich Albion.
January provides English football with a short and romantic escape from the harshness of the Premier League table, since it sees the Third Round of the FA Cup take place, a weekend when the aristocratic billionaires are obliged to travel to run-down, corrugated-iron stadiums in order to play against bricklayers, carpenters and veterans from League One.
The whole town of Eastfield halted its breathing for thirty seconds as the draw took place in December.
West Bromwich Albion, who were European champions, had drawn with Crestwood United.
Ethan Matthews was in the dressing room in the away team's area at The Foundry. The room was as big as a big closet. Peeling paint could be seen on the cinderblock walls, the radiator was broken and the ceiling was dripping slowly and freezing rainwater onto the concrete floor.
It was just like home.
He took out his phone.
Group Chat: The Eastfield Boys
Mia: Today we're starting at the home end! Mason secured us tickets right next to the Crestwood dugout. It does seem a bit strange not being in West Brom colours, Eth, but we still have to back our boy!
Mason: I'm in the dressing room at the home base at the moment, General, and I can hear you all through the wall. If you think I'm going to be soft with you simply since you're my best friend, you're completely off the mark. I've waited all my life to break your ankles in a proper match. Here you are, at the Foundry.
Ethan: Leave the midfield alone. Okay, Cal. Mia, go and enjoy the view. As for Mase… if you manage to catch me then you're free to kick me. See you over there.
Ethan locked his phone and a huge smile appeared on his face. Callum's scouting had been incredibly accurate; there had been no overthinking, just some pure lower-league survival tactics.
Julian Vance went into the small room, bending down a bit to pass under the low doorframe, and looked completely out of place in his tailored suit next to the paint that was peeling.
"As Vance said, in a quiet but intense voice, the FA Cup is the great equalizer since it doesn't matter to them about your European medals; in their eyes you are the Goliath and they have ninety minutes in which to become legends. The pitch is bad and the referee will allow them to tackle you heavily so do not expect any protection."
Vance looked directly into Ethan's eyes.
I realize that their captain is your friend, but for the next ninety minutes he will be an enemy. Don't give them a fairy tale.
2:55 PM. The Tunnel.
The tunnel in The Foundry was extremely narrow, the players being almost shoulder to shoulder.
Ethan took his position at the front of the West Brom team list and donned the captain's armband that day since Vance had moved Liam Thorne to the bench.
By his side was Mason Turner, donning the red and black stripes of Crestwood United with the captain's armband tightly wrapped around his huge bicep. Mason looked terrifying—his scarred face as hard as stone and his eyes filled with absolute focus.
"You look nervous, General," Mason muttered, without turning his head.
"I was just concerned regarding the condition of your pitch, Mase," Ethan replied, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "It seems as though you had a tractor pull with it the other day."
"We like it soft," Mason said with a grin, showing his missing tooth. "It makes it easier to bury you."
3:00 PM. Kickoff.
The Foundry was completely full, with ten thousand working-class fans shouting for blood.
From the very first whistle the Crestwood players acted as if possessed. They kicked the ball high into the cold January atmosphere, charging into the tackles without any regard for risk.
2nd Minute.
Ethan had a loose ball in the centre circle and with one touch he managed to get it settled on the terribly bobbling pitch.
He never received any further contact.
Mason Turner arrived like a scud missile and immediately launched himself into a violent and fully committed slide. Although he cleared the ball completely, the tremendous momentum of his large frame carried on and sent Ethan flying through the air so that he crashed dramatically into the mud.
The Foundry burst into a loud and loud roar.
The referee allowed play to continue.
Ethan pushed himself up in the mud and spat out a handful of dirt. He looked up and noticed Mason standing over him, extending a hand.
"Told you," Mason winked.
Ethan took the other man's hand and pulled himself up. He wasn't angry, but he was buzzing tremendously. The war had now officially begun.
35th Minute.
The situation was a huge equalizer. Although West Brom had a technical advantage, this was of no significance when the ball failed to go straight. Both Jaden Kalu and Tyler Hayes had difficulty in controlling the ball on the wings, and Armando was being physically beaten up by the center-backs from Crestwood.
Mason was giving his best performance yet. He was present everywhere, scoring headers, intercepting passes, and getting in front of shots. He was truly the central figure in the Crestwood resistance.
Ethan came to the conclusion that Callum was completely correct; they weren't able to go through the middle since Mason was controlling the central concrete too effectively.
"Ethan told Lukas Keller to go long, pointing in the direction of the left channel."
Halftime.
The score was Crestwood United 0 - 0 West Bromwich Albion.
The dressing room at the other end was cold and silent.
"They are fighting in the same determined manner as lions," Vance admitted, as he walked back and forth in the little room. "Their captain is arranging them exactly right. We are giving them the advantage by attempting to deal with the situation from the centre. In the second half, get round him. Extend the length of the field and make them run on until their legs fail."
The Second Half.
65th Minute.
The intense pressure was beginning to take its toll on the Crestwood players since they were in League One and the enormous physical demand of trying to catch up with the Champions of Europe was having an effect on them.
With Mason being the exception, he was still running like a machine, driven completely by the adrenaline of the situation.
Ethan took advantage of the tired state of the team by beginning to make quick, one-touch passes, continually moving the point of attack from left to right and thus forcing the Crestwood defence to keep constantly shifting.
78th Minute.
The magic surrounding the FA Cup was strongly present in the atmosphere, and the home supporters were praying for a replay at The Hawthorns.
West Bromwich secured the throw-in within the Crestwood half.
Ethan was given the ball at the edge of the penalty area and Mason was immediately at him, moving up aggressively to cut him off.
No one on earth knew Mason better than Ethan, and he knew that Mason had expected him to accept a touch and then attempt to get away from the pressure.
Ethan didn't make contact; instead he let the ball slide across his body and used his own momentum to create a false move. Mason rushed in, expecting to make contact with the ball, and entirely missed it.
Ethan moved past him and entered the penalty area.
To cover the error, the centre-back rushed out in a state of panic. Ethan didn't take the shot; instead he played a subtle and precisely weighted chip over the defender's head and towards the back post.
Armando waited. He then struck it down on his chest and delivered a fierce shot past the helpless goalkeeper.
GOAL.
Crestwood United scored zero and West Bromwich Albion scored one.
Cheering came from the section at the far end behind the goal, but the rest of the stadium then fell into a heartbreaking silence.
Ethan didn't celebrate in a wild manner; he turned around and looked at Mason, who was standing there with his hands on his knees, breathing hard and staring at the grass.
Ethan ran over and put his hand on his best friend's back. Mason didn't look up, but he nodded wearily.
90+4 Minutes.
Whistle. Whistle. Whistle.
Full Time.
Crestwood United scored zero and West Bromwich Albion scored one.
The story came to an end, but the respect remained without exception.
When the final whistle was blown, the ten thousand Crestwood fans stood up and gave their team a huge standing ovation. They had pushed the Kings of Europe to the very limit.
Ethan went directly to the centre circle where Mason was standing, his red and black kit all mud-covered and looking completely worn out.
Ethan took his white West Brom shirt off by pulling it over his head and held it out.
Mason smiled and took off his own jersey, which was soaked in mud. At that moment on the freezing pitch they changed shirts and hugged each other tightly in a strong brotherly fashion.
"You were just lucky, Wonderkid," Mason whispered, and gave Ethan a slap on the back.
I was in the mud in the second minute, Mase," Ethan laughed, "you were tremendous today, completely tremendous.
Ethan put on the heavy, wet Crestwood shirt and it felt just right.
7:00 PM Ironworks Pub
The pub was full to capacity, with the air smelling of spilled beer and wet winter coats; Ethan came in through the back door, having on a thick hoodie, and was immediately greeted by a loud round of applause from the locals.
He moved his way through the crowd to the corner booth.
Mason was already in the room, having a pint and wearing the clean white West Brom shirt that belonged to Ethan. Callum and Mia were sitting on the other side of him and were beaming from ear to ear.
"As I told you, Eth," said Callum, while taking a sip of his drink, "Mason had good spatial control in the defensive third during the first seventy minutes, but the one-touch dummy took full advantage of his aggressive momentum."
"Go to hell, Cal," Mason laughed and threw a coaster at him. "He was just lucky. If the pitch had been a bit worse, I'd have gotten him."
"You almost knocked me in two," Ethan said as he slid into the booth beside Mia, "I'll still be feeling that tackle until February."
Mia bent down and gave Ethan a hug. "We are absolutely proud of both of you; that was the best match I have ever seen."
Ethan turned to his friends. The glamour of the Champions League, the billions of money involved in the Premier League, and the international pressure—all of that didn't count for anything in this booth. They were just four youngsters from a run-down housing estate who had built up their own crowns.
Ethan said to the FA Cup, raising his glass.
Mason responded by clashing his pint with Ethan's.
The factory was shut for the night and the Eastfield boys were precisely in the place they ought to be.